


Her Veil of Light

by JimIntoMystery



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic), Marvel (Comics), Thunderbolts (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimIntoMystery/pseuds/JimIntoMystery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Thunderbolts and the Dark Avengers fell apart, Moonstone vanished without a trace.  Enemies and would-be allies have sought her out, to no avail.  Offers to utilize her many talents--for good or evil--have gone unanswered.  Threats to bring her to justice or vengeance have gone unfulfilled.  However, Madame Masque has just sent her an invitation that she simply can't ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Veil of Light

As she skulked through the back alleys of downtown Miami, Karla Sofen didn't dare look over her shoulder. If anyone was following her (and that was very likely), she refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing she was concerned. But she _was_ concerned all the same, so she continually tugged at her trenchcoat collar, as if to hide beneath it.

The heels of her shoes clicked and scraped against old concrete, to her frustration. She preferred to be undetectable, and normally she would be. Under the circumstances, though, she couldn't afford to be caught using her powers. So she had to make do with staying in the shadows and obfuscating her route. It was a small measure of agency, for someone so otherwise helpless.

When she reached the address she'd been given, it took a few minutes to fumble through the dark in search of a back door. An internet search had revealed little about the establishment, and offered no reassurance to Karla as she hesitantly knocked.

Like something out of a gangster movie, a small slit in the door slid open, revealing a man's face...or part of it, anyway. He did not greet her, or even demand that she state her business. It made no difference to him, evidently, if she stood out in the alley all night.

"E-excuse me," she stammered, clutching her coat. "I-I was told to be here at ten..." A little babbling would enhance the performance. "I mean, it's nine fifty-three but I wasn't sure I should take a cab so I gave myself time to walk and, and, I started to wait across the street but it's just not safe out there at this time of--"

The slit in the door closed, and she could hear various locks being opened. When she was finally allowed to enter, she found two large men waiting for her. They were no threat, of course, but it was better not to let them know that. Swallowing her pride, Sofen approached them as if fearing for her life, her defiant sneer replaced with nervous, wide-eyed terror.

They exchanged glances, through sunglasses that hid very little from her. When they turned back to her, she found a very familiar lack of respect in their faces. "This way," one of them said, leading her into the building and down a flight of stairs.

She found herself in a restaurant, most likely intended for a very exclusive, very private clientele. There were no more than half a dozen tables, and all of them were empty. As one of the men stood guard over the way they'd come in, the other put his hands around her. "I'll take your coat," he muttered, as if seeking approval, even though he was already peeling it away from her chest.

Karla wanted to murder him. But for the moment, she could only stick to the role she had chosen, and tolerate his forwardness. So she let them leer at her cocktail dress, and enjoy the pathetic thrill of having revealed it. Her only objection came when he began to take her coat away, and even that had to be framed as a submissive plea. "Wait--I mean, I need the manila envelope. In the breast pocket."

He fished out the packet and handed it over without any trouble. Karla clutched it to her body as though she feared it might be snatched away at any moment. The further she could be from defiant, she reasoned, the less these men would be motivated to give her trouble. And even though she would have delighted in making trouble for them, her priority had to be the secrets in the envelope.

It was clear that her appointment would be held behind the large doors at the other end of the room. Still, she waited until one of the men spelled that out for her, rather than appear to take any initiative. A third man was standing guard at this private dining area, and with a nod he alerted the other two that he would not need their help in dealing with her.

"You're early," he said as he opened the doors for her. "Wait inside."

Karla thought of more than a few snappy retorts to his tone, but held her tongue. She simply avoided eye contact, and hurriedly did as she was told. 

Once the doors were closed behind her, she found herself alone and free to behave as herself. Still, she resisted that urge, knowing that she might yet be monitored in any number of ways. So she continued to play her part, wandering around the private room of a luxurious underground restaurant, and feigning amazement at the decor. It couldn't compare to Castle Zemo, or Stark Tower, or Doctor Faustus's villa in the Canaries. But it would take a few minutes of gawking to "prove" that she had never been to such places.

Eventually she took a seat at a table for two in the center of the room. For a few minutes she simply sat and stared at her manila envelope, contemplating its contents. Bringing it here was absurd--why show it to the one who sent it in the first place?--but it was exactly the sort of misstep Karla Sofen _wouldn't_ make. That sort of counterintuitive thinking was liable to become ridiculous, if she wasn't careful. She couldn't help but wonder if her tormentor had intended that, as an extra bit of frustration to keep her off-balance. 

After twenty-four more interminable minutes, the large doors swung open again. The woman who entered was striking, wearing a white dress that seemed to only be held up by her considerable poise. Her hair was dark and shoulder-length, her eyes steel-gray, her features distinctly Lombardic. Karla had never seen her face before.

"Hello, Doctor," she said with a hint of Romanesco in her accent. "I hope you'll forgive my late arrival. I was unavoidably detained with other business."

Now Karla had to be even more careful. "I...I'm not a doctor, Miss...?"

" _Madame._ " The correction was harsh, even as the brunette glided around the table and hovered behind Karla's seat. "My name is Whitney Frost. You may know me as Madame Masque."

She did. Sofen had never seen Frost without her trademark golden mask, but the Thunderbolts had a long file about the international crimelord. The gist of the report was that Masque was paranoid and secretive. That she would brazenly identify herself here suggested that she had complete confidence in her control of the situation. Karla decided that might become useful.

For the moment, though, it was more important to stick to her story. "Yes, well, my name is Hallie Stockbridge, and I think you have me confused with someone else. I came here about these photos..." She held up the envelope. "I--I found them in my bed, with instructions to come here..."

"I see..." Frost stood behind her, reaching over her shoulder to take the packet. Madame Masque had no superhuman abilities, so Karla could have easily stopped her. But then, that wouldn't get her anywhere. So she just sat in her chair, allowing the other woman to deliberately intrude in her personal space. As if to emphasize this arrangement, Frost took the liberty of running a finger through Sofen's hair, examining a few of the blonde strands just because she could.

When she was satisfied that they understood one another, Whitney continued around the table, taking her own seat. She opened the envelope and went through its contents. "Well, this is certainly a difficult position for you, 'Ms. Stockbridge.' My organization has assembled considerable evidence that you are Doctor Karla Sofen, a psychologist who ran a practice in the greater Los Angeles area--"

"But that's not--!"

"--whose licenses were revoked after she acquired a spaceborne gem, and used its power to embark on a criminal career as 'Moonstone.'" Frost scrutinized a paper outlining Sofen's history. "Spent several years in the Thunderbolts...sent back to prison...escaped...current whereabouts are unknown to authorities." She looked up at her guest with a wicked smile. "But not to me."

Before Karla could reply, a waiter emerged from the kitchen with their meal. Without a word, he poured each woman a glass of chardonnay and laid a tray of shellfish in the center of the table. He briefly exchanged knowing glances with Madame Masque, and then left.

"Please, help yourself." Frost picked up her drink, and half-heartedly examined its bouquet, but her attention was still on the documents. "You see, I have a theory. I believe Karla Sofen realized that every law enforcement agency was out to put her back in prison, and every... _extralegal_ organization would like to make an example of her for associating with the Thunderbolts. So she decided to lay low. Not in New York, though--New York is nothing but trouble. The West Coast, maybe? Still too risky. But south Florida? How much trouble could she find there?

"So she came to Miami. And with her talents for manipulation and false charm, she quickly accumulated the resources and connections to set up a comfortable living." Frost laid out several printouts of bank records, credit card statements, and cryptocurrency hashes. "But 'comfortable' doesn't fit with Sofen's profile. So she had to find a way to get to 'luxury.'"

She picked a photo from the stack of documents, of Karla shmoozing at a party with a fiftysomething man. "Enter Chick Harris, 1990s action movie star and subject of various 'internet memes.' You befriended him several weeks ago, shortly before leaked video footage revealed his rather curious autoerotic habits."

Karla furrowed her brow, feigning outrage in place of her genuine anger. "Surely you're not accusing _me_ of--!"

"I don't have to," Whitney smirked, "since our research revealed a connection between your darknet accounts and the one that received payment from the tabloids in exchange for the tape."

Karla leaned back in her chair, and took a long gulp of her wine. She was far from conceding defeat, but "Helen Stockbridge" would be acting discouraged right around now. Karla Sofen, on the other hand, needed an excuse to sample Frost's twelve-year-old Grand Cru.

"By all means," Frost said, clearly enjoying this, "do try the Gillardeaus." 

Sofen played dumb. "The what?"

"The oysters. I've spared no expense. I know you'll appreciate that." 

But that was the problem. The last thing Karla wanted to do was resemble the woman Madame Masque believed her to be. And that woman would commit several felonies for a genuine Gillardeau. So she wrinkled her nose, and behaved as if the platter only contained live earthworms.

"The choice of Harris as a victim was really quite inspired," Frost went on. "His star power burned out ages ago, so no one important bothered to defend him. But his status as an online fad ensured that word of the scandal spread quickly, and that pockets of fandom would afford him false hope for a comeback. So after his wife and children moved out, I'm sure it didn't take much to make him feel miserable in his big empty house, or to nudge him into making a fresh start. All he would need was someone to keep an eye on his spacious Key Biscayne mansion, until he could find a buyer."

"Look," Sofen said, "just because I'm housesitting for a friend doesn't mean I have anything to do with this...this 'Moonstain' person..."

"Moonstone. You're not fooling anyone, Doctor..."

"I'm not trying to!" Karla lied. "And if I was who you said I was, why would I need to? If I was some super-powered criminal, why wouldn't I tear down this building, with you in it?"

"Because you're smart enough to know that wouldn't get you anywhere," Frost sneered. "Everything in this package has been backed up to the cloud. There's an automatic distribution program set up on a dead man's switch. If I don't check it every 24 hours, the data gets dumped by a dozen throwaway accounts, on a hundred social networks. The kind of social networks whose brand of mischief attracts scrutiny from Interpol and SHIELD..."

She rose from her chair and began to circle the table. "Oh, I could bore you with the details--convince you that you'd never defeat the system within a single 24-hour interval. But you already know I've covered every angle, or else I wouldn't be here. And I know you're not stupid enough to test my precautions. Which means you have to sit there and eat oysters, while I get to enjoy myself."

Sofen didn't move, or even react, as Frost approached her. It was a good scheme. Perfect, perhaps. If she'd come up with it--executed it on some other poor soul--she'd be having the time of her life at this point, reveling in the despair of the victim. And that only made it more painful to listen to Frost gloat. So Karla refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing the concern in her eyes. She simply stared at her meal, as Frost laid surveillance photos onto the table. 

"Once we realized who you were, it was simply a matter of proving it. I paid good money to get these shots." Photos of Sofen, coming and going from the Harris mansion, were spread out for her to see. Some were labeled to point out identifying features. "I paid better money for anything that might humiliate you." The pictures that followed were far more intrusive, and served little constructive purpose. Frost leaned over Sofen to point to one in particular. "I thought this one was impressive. Did you learn this trick from Chick Harris?"

Sofen narrowed her eyes. "No," she answered, flatly.

Frost shrugged and laid another photo on the table. This was completely unnecessary--each of them had already seen all of it. But then, Karla hadn't been heard the behind-the-scenes details. "This one was particularly popular with the _piccioti_. I had it blown up to a 36" poster for them. Of course, I went ahead and had it laminated--"

"What do you want?" Sofen asked, all pretense of civility removed from her voice.

"I _want_ you to try the oysters," Frost smiled, tangling her finger in Sofen's hair. "I had them flown in this afternoon, straight from Oléron, and they're absolutely perfect."

"That's not what I meant."

Madame Masque pulled back, her hand tensing into fists. "I _know_ what you meant. I'm not the idiot you'd like to think I am, okay? So unless you want to spend the rest of your life eating hash on a tin tray, and amassing a fortune in cigarettes, you'll treat me with the respect I deserve. You will learn what is expected of you on _my_ terms, not yours."

Sofen's face brightened, slightly. "So...what are your terms, then?"

"Patience, Doctor." Frost composed herself quickly. "You'll find that when I have someone where I want them, I always finish what I start."

"How comforting...if somewhat uncreative." Karla turned in her chair, leaning against one of the armrests as she put her legs up on the other. "Am I where you want me to be, then? What position would you have me assume?"

Whitney appeared intrigued by this. "Mm. Probably not wise to suggest demands for me to make."

"Unless I'm just saying what you're already thinking..."

"Don't flatter yourself..."

"You're the one who went to all the trouble to take these pictures of me."

"I...all right, look." Frost, by now annoyed with this train of thought, rubbed her temples. "I'm not making myself clear here." She returned to her seat, where she reached into her purse for a state-of-the-art comm-link, and spoke into it. "Claudio, come in here."

One of the men that Karla had met earlier promptly entered the room, walked straight up to Whitney Frost, and stood at attention like a prizewinning hound. "Yes, Madame."

She turned to address him. "Claudio, you've been with the organization how long?"

"Fifteen years, Madame."

"Would you explain to Doctor Sofen how your presence here indicates your seniority?"

Claudio turned to face Karla. "Madame Masque would never permit this meeting to occur without a high-ranking escort with a proven track record."

His employer nodded in approval. "Very good. How's the wife and kids?"

"Madame?"

Frost rolled her eyes. "Wife. Kids. Family, Claudio. Are you a family man?"

"Y-yes, Madame. I've been married for...eleven years. Three kids...eight, five, and two."

"Thank you, Claudio. I want you to know that what I'm about to say isn't personal. It's not some sex thing. I just need to make a point to Doctor Sofen."

"Yes, Madame?"

She looked him square in the eye. "Remove my right shoe, and clean it with your tongue."

He was confused, but even so... "Yes, Madame." With that, Claudio knelt down and cautiously pulled the Louboutin pump from Frost's outstretched foot. Karla watched him carefully, for any sign of revulsion about his assignment. Claudio, to his credit as a henchman, showed none. He simply stood up and began to lick the distinctive red sole, making no effort to hide the act from either woman.

"Am I supposed to volunteer to take the left?" Sofen joked.

"No, you're supposed to shut up and do as you're told." Frost's full attention was on lecturing her guest; she couldn't even be bothered to watch the degradation she had just ordered. "Claudio knows that. You don't. I'm going to teach you.

"I've studied you extensively, Karla, and what I've learned is that you refuse to accept that you're a natural follower. You were born to domestic workers. Your heritage is one of servitude and obedience. You've sought to escape that through insubordination and treachery, but where has that taken you? Even your criminal career is that of an underboss--always taking orders from a superior, never following through on your dreams to usurp power."

Karla's poker face barely held against this withering evaluation. All the same, she was struck by Frost's hardly-relevant allusion to "heritage." "I suppose your background prepared you for something better," she said, to test a hypothesis.

"An understatement," Madame Masque replied, confirming it. "Oh, I'm sure you'd like to think we're two sides of the same coin, since I am exactly where you want to be. But the power you crave isn't earned or stolen, it's inherited. I was born into the European aristocracy of the world's oldest surviving crime syndicate. The skills necessary to protect that status have been bred into my family for generations. I am only alive today because it's in my blood to recognize betrayal before it happens. Simply put, people like you don't get the better of people like me."

Frost snapped her fingers, and Claudio instinctively understood that she was finished with him. He quickly fell back to his knees, and replaced the shoe on her foot. "You see, this man is not submissive, or cowardly, or biding his time for a chance to stab me in the back. He obeys my slightest whim because he knows what will happen if he refuses me. If you had half the sense he does, you'd be in a far better position right now."

"On my knees?" Sofen smirked.

Whitney pointed to the door, and waited until Claudio left the room before responding. "You'd be a trusted lieutenant in a stable organization. Instead, you're an unemployable mutineer, with a reputation for sabotaging every opportunity she was ever given, which is why nobody cares to save you from your current predicament." Frost took a long sip of wine, allowing her point time to sink in. 

"You tried to go your own way," she continued, "and here you are: Completely at my mercy. I can publish this evidence, and you'll spend the rest of your life in prison. Or you can swallow your pride and work for me. With supervision, you could be truly...valuable. But you need discipline. _My_ discipline."

Sofen raised an eyebrow. "Are you _sure_ this isn't a sex thing?"

"Shut up." Madame Masque sat a little taller in her chair, her terrible glare now resembling the false face she was known for. "First, you're going to pay me. I will take ownership of all your assets, and all of your revenue streams will be transferred to my accounts. I will decide whether you live in luxury or squalor.

"Frankly, though, I don't need your money. So at some point, you will perform various assignments for me. Perhaps you'll be suited to them. Perhaps I'll make sure that you aren't. I will decide if you are a success or a miserable failure.

"But to be honest, your service to this organization is not required. So eventually I will simply force you to amuse me, in one manner or another. I really haven't decided how that will work. You'll hate it, though. If you find ways to enjoy it, I will ruin joy for you. I will decide if you can stand to look at yourself in the mirror.

"In time, you will be so desperate to end my debasement of you that you will offer to debase yourself. You will remember this evening, and you will _beg me_ to let you clean my right shoe. And you will thank me when I let you lick Claudio's dried spittle from the left one."

The room grew silent, as Sofen found herself at a loss for a witty retort. For a minute or so the two women just stared at one another--the brunette relentlessly asserting dominance, and the blonde wary of lowering her guard. Karla could see, however, that someone had to break the tension, and it certainly wouldn't be Whitney. She blinked, and then batted her eyelashes as if in doubt, and then turned her head slightly. "You've...clearly given this a lot of thought," she muttered.

Frost seemed to enjoy that display, and visibly relaxed. "I have. I would not enter this undertaking lightly, Doctor Sofen. I respect your skills far too much to give you a chance to outmaneuver me. But I do not need to respect you to make use of your skills. I own you, now, and I am going to break you in."

"Are you certain that you can?"

"Yes. Now I suggest we eat our dinner." Madame Masque glanced at the oysters, her expression revealing that, no, that was _not_ actually a suggestion.

Karla reached for the platter, but then pretended to have second thoughts. "It just seems that, if I'm this sinister psychologist you say I am, who constantly undermines her leaders...well, I'd have a field day with you."

"Don't--!" Frost caught the outburst, clearly aware that it would only be used against her. "Do _not_ push me, Karla. You will regret it."

"Would she? Karla Sofen, I mean." Karla smiled, making sure it was clear that she knew she'd hit a nerve. "Because even I can tell, just sitting here talking to you, that you're exceptionally insecure, egotistical, paranoid, cruel, and mercurial. The woman you're after is a professional, so who's to say what else she could find, given enough time."

"I wouldn't let you."

"And, obviously, I wouldn't dream of testing your patience." Sofen reached again for the _spéciales_ , only to change course and take the wine bottle. "But then, I was talking about what this Moonstone woman would do. From the sound of it, I don't think you could ever be sure you'd broken her will. She seems like the sort who'd feign obedience just to get close enough to...to..."

"To what?" Whitney was so intent on hearing the end of the sentence that she didn't even notice that she was inviting Karla to continue. It was almost too easy.

Sofen poured herself a double, and took her time admiring the crystal. "Oh, I don't know. I suppose someone as treacherous and spiteful as you claim would be capable of...anything. It wouldn't have to be illegal, or even violent. One cunning remark might be enough to shatter your confidence."

"I don't shatter," Masque scoffed.

Karla nodded as she took a drink. "No, I'm sure you don't. People like you try to absorb or avoid any attack, without ever noticing how they distort _themselves_ in the process. I wonder what that's like. How can you be sure someone won't find a way to use that against you? I would imagine that's quite frightening."

"No, you know what's frightening?" Frost shot back. "Pyatak. Crossmoor. Guantanamo. The Carnellian gulags. My lawyers were kind enough to point out that you could be extradited to any of their jurisdictions."

"Unless I do as you say," Sofen noted. "Fear is an excellent motivator. Like the fear that someone will call your bluff."

"I don't bluff."

"Well, if you say so. I wouldn't know. I suppose a psychologist could tell..."

Madame Masque stood up from her chair, slamming her palms on the table. "If you don't shut up and eat those oysters right now, I will see to it you eat nothing but dog food for the next six months."

"But that won't do you any good." Sofen shrugged and slowly rose to her feet. "Because I'm not the woman you're trying to punish, and--"

"I'm not buying it, you stupid--"

"--and _if I were_ ," Moonstone insisted, "I'd see to it that you go to sleep each night sobbing, and wake up each morning screaming."

"Then you'd spend every night sleeping next to a toilet."

"But the damage would be done, wouldn't it? You thought of everything else, so what's your plan for that? If you needed to dispose of Moonstone, how would you be sure you could do it, before she made you live to regret crossing her?" Karla picked up some of the papers spread across the table. "According to your own files, you wouldn't be the first to encounter that particular problem."

"I...!" Frost gripped the table, never realizing that Sofen would noticed the tension building in her arms as she squeezed the wood. Still, she was no fool, and it didn't take long for her to force herself to mask her fury. "I know you better than that, Doctor. You're not foolish enough to risk prison just to mess with my head."

"Foolish enough, no." Sofen returned to her chair, and her wineglass. "Vindictive enough? Well, after all the torment you're proposing, who could really say? What was it you said you'd do to me?"

"That...that's not the point..."

"Hm...I can't recall many specifics. Other than the parts about debasing me. What do you suppose it would take to make Karla Sofen hate to face herself in the mirror?"

"I don't care..."

Sofen rummaged through the files. "I have it! You could force her to kill someone she used to care about...this Avenger, for instance. I could see how that... _might_ break her will. Or make her risk prison to kill someone _you_ cared for. Or both."

"Stop it!"

"Or she could resist until you're forced to sink so low, _you_ can't face yourself each morning..."

" _Stop it! Just stop! Talking!_ " Whitney looked ready to leap across the table to strangle her guest. All that stopped really, was Moonstone's superhuman strength, which was enough to remind her whom she was dealing with, and drag her thoughts back into focus. As she seethed, Karla could see that she was beginning to understand the flaw in her own plan. "Eat the damn oysters, or I'll have you shipped off to a lab where they'll find all the ways you can be injured."

Sofen softened her smile, hoping to lure Frost in with something approximating compassion. "Whitney, that still doesn't get you what you really want. Blackmailing someone like Karla Sofen isn't worth doing if you have to keep her locked away somewhere, or reduced to a house pet. Your plan only makes sense if you can put her to good use, at your side. Sooner or later, you'd have to let the fox guard the henhouse."

"I wouldn't point that out if I were you," Frost snarled. "Not when the alternative is to report you tonight."

"If you really think I'm Moonstone," Sofen conceded, "then that's your only option. But honestly, Whitney, how long do you really think Moonstone will stay in prison? You mentioned her knack for being the lieutenant for other criminals, and undermining their efforts. Which suggests a pattern of attracting the interest of very ambitious, very overconfident people. People who don't know...or care...that she's a threat to everyone she associates with. People who lack your...caution...when handling someone so toxic."

"No...you're just trying to--this won't work, Karla..."

"What won't work?"

"Trying to play mindgames with me."

"I'm not. People only call it 'mindgames' when someone is telling them what they don't want to hear, and they realize it makes sense. I don't have to deceive you, because your choices are clear. If I'm Karla Sofen, then I'm too dangerous to blackmail and too monstrous to tolerate. And if you carry out your threats, you'll never be safe from me, because I'm a sociopath and I don't forgive anyone. Under those conditions, we'd both be better off if I wasn't Karla Sofen at all."

Frost scowled across the table at her, defiant. But Karla could see the resolve in her eyes wavering. Now it was Madame Masque's turn to blink, and acquiesce. She sank back into her chair, and slowly reached out to pick one of the oysters. Tipping the shell into her mouth, she swallowed the morsel quickly, as if it were bitter medicine, and washed it down with a long drink. "You're free to go...Ms. Stockbridge."

"That's...very gracious of you, Whitney, but I don't know if that will be enough."

"What?"

"You've put my life under a microscope. There's no telling who might pick up on the trail you made between myself and Moonstone. Any such party could pose a threat to me...and to you, if it becomes an inconvenience to Sofen, and she blames you."

Frost drummed her fingers on the table. "Then what, pray tell, do you suggest...?"

"What indeed?" Karla leaned back in her chair, and was by now positively beaming. "Well, your organization must be quite clever to amass all this information. Surely they'd be just as good at suppressing it. But the key is that I can't risk any movements that would arouse suspicion. And that's going to be difficult after this incident, since I no longer feel safe in my own home..."

"Protection. You want protection."

Sofen nodded. "More to the point, you can't afford to leave me unprotected."

"Out of the question," Frost argued, but her guest could tell her heart wasn't in it. "That is...I mean, the expense would attract the sort of scrutiny you're trying to avoid."

Karla began to amuse herself with the surveillance photos Madame Masque had laid on the table. Her mood had considerably improved since then, and she leafed through the pictures as if selecting one to have framed for her bedroom. "Come now, Whitney," she said. "Expenses can be explained away. Perhaps you could claim that you've secured my services for some secret activity."

"Right. And how much would your 'services' cost me?"

"Enough to be plausible. Say...twenty thousand a month. In Swiss francs, of course."

"If this were plausible, I'd negotiate down to ten thousand."

"If this were plausible," Sofen quipped, "you'd be saving your money for reconstructive facial surgery."

Frost's eyes widened, and she jumped up to throw her glass across the table. It flew just inches past Karla's face, and jingled as it burst against the floor behind her. But it was an empty gesture, and they both knew it. She sank back down into her chair, and began to pout. "Twenty thousand. Just to be sure I never see you again."

"Then I believe we have an agreement." Karla's smile was as bright as a realtor's, and as self-satisfied as a loan shark's.

"Good," Whitney fumed. "Get the hell out."

Sofen raised her glass to her host before finishing it off, and stood up to leave. But she hadn't gotten this far just to do as she was told now. So instead of heading directly for the door, she turned, and lingered for a moment by the middle of the table. Frost had by now buried her head in her hands, but when she realized she was still not alone, she looked up and found Karla's glowing, insufferably pleasant facade had been replaced with the cruel scowl of an upset criminal. 

Summoning the power of her moonstone, Karla lifted the table as if it were made of styrofoam, and hurled it as easily as Whitney had thrown her drink. Glass and silverware pealed across the floor. But before the Gillardeaus could hit the ground, Sofen stretched out her hand, and incinerated the entire tray with a blast of pure energy.

Whitney hid her feelings well, but not enough to keep Karla from savoring her terror. Without the table, Madame Masque had suddenly gone from holding court to sitting alone in the center of a deserted room. Unarmed. Defenseless. The smell of burning flesh in the air. Looking up at a woman strong enough to--as she'd suggested--bring the entire building down around them.

Her point made, Moonstone straightened her dress and left without another word. It was better that way, she reasoned. As much as she might have liked to stay and rub salt in the wound, it would only distract Frost from cursing herself for her failure. It was natural for Karla to picture her having a talent for self-loathing. They were, after all, so alike in all the ways that mattered.


End file.
